


The Immortal Haemovore’s Cookbook

by SharKohen



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action, Blood, But not actually horror, Cooking, F/M, Fantasy, Human/Vampire Relationship, Inspired by Gothic horror, Modern Era, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, Teenagers, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22525483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharKohen/pseuds/SharKohen
Summary: Vampire boy on a diet of animal blood wants to date Vegan girl.A cup of high school silliness. A spoonful of the supernatural. A generous heaping of drama and emotional baggage. Don't forget a dash of young love to top it all off, and some existential crises on the side.Come armed with your knives and spatulas - there's a storm cooking down here.**Cross-posted on Wattpad**Inspired by a fanfic written by author back in April 2017.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Soliloquy

** Blodplattër a.k.a. Blood Pancake (Sweet)  **

Ingredients:

1 cup of buckwheat flour

1 cup of water

1 cup of cow or pig blood (fresh if possible)

1 tablespoon of butter

2 tablespoons of molasses

1 pinch of salt

Steps:

  * In a mixing bowl, add the flour and water. Mix well.
  * Carefully stir in blood and molasses to form batter.
  * Melt butter in a saucepan of medium heat. Careful not to burn it
  * Pour in a thin layer of batter over the pan.
  * After 2-3 minutes, flip the pancake over and let it cook for 30 seconds to 1 minute.
  * Flip pancake over one last time for a few second before, removing from heat.
  * Repeat as needed. Serve with lingonberry sauce, maple syrup or any other preferred condiments.



~~~0~~~

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There was a paper in 1987 hypothesising that the severity of vampiric partial retrograde amnesia (that was, a then-relatively unexplored phenomenon of vampires losing their oldest memories) was directly-related to an improvement in vampire-specific enhancements. The posited theory was that the lost long-term memories in a way created more ‘room’ in the brain, resulting in further development of motor and sensory cortices. This manifested as proportionally increased speed, strength, sensory detection and agility the longer a vampire lived.

A refute published one year after argued a different theory: simply, the more vampires forgot of their human past, the less inhibitions they would have - be it habitual, academic, philosophical, or moral. The lack of boundaries could spell greater freedom, and that freedom could allow one to flourish in their new identity as an immortal being.

But disinhibition could lead to depravity, and depravity could lead to destruction. The more a vampire loss their memories, the more they lost themselves, and became nothing but their base nature.

So, every morning when he looked in the mirror, he tried to remember his old self.

He would not have appeared too different; a little more scrappy, a little more skinny, a little more tanned. But while he could understand these differences cognitively, he couldn’t actually remember. It didn’t help that there were no old photographs of himself and he hadn’t gotten a good look at his own reflection until aluminium-based mirrors became a thing. He could imagine his younger, more innocent self, but he couldn’t remember him.

If such a trivial loss bothered him so much, he wondered what would happen if he forgot something more important. Like his birth home, or even his birth name.

“Lawrence!” Loud knocking against the door combined with the sharp yell, broke his reverie. “Stop soliloquising and get out of the bathroom! I need to use it!”

His mood shifted from pensive to irate in a matter of seconds. “I wasn’t soliloquising!”

“Yes, you were.”

“How can I be soliloquising if I haven’t said anything all morning?”

“You’re doing it mentally, and it’s so intense I could feel it oozing through the cracks around this door.”

Fumbling for the lock, Lawrence came face to face with a very grumpy, and also very tall, vampire. “There are other bathrooms, you know.”

The very tall, very grumpy vampire didn’t need to say very much. With the creasing of his forehead, the downturn of his tattooed lip, the slight flex of his muscular arms – “ _Out_.”

And meekly, the smaller, skinnier vampire obeyed. But after the door had slammed shut, he pulled a face at it.

“I hear you lurking out there.”

Lawrence fled.

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“I heard Eb found you soliloquising in the bathroom again.”

There was no response, just a derisive snort and the clinking of cutlery against plates.

The stout, bearded man let out a chuckle, one that always rumbled from chest down to his large belly. “Come, now, there’s no shame in engaging in a little self-reflection aloud every now and then.”

“Except that I wasn’t saying anything aloud,” Lawrence muttered as he stabbed his knife through his stack of pancakes, roughing slices it up into eight equal parts. He then proceeded to douse each part with Al’s ‘secret recipe’ jam, before cramming it in his mouth.“If I’m reflecting without talking, it’s just called thinking, and thinking is perfectly normal.”

“That is true, yes.” Nik himself preferred to work through his pancakes one by one; topping it up with plenty butter and whipped cream, then rolling it like a taco and biting into it. It was messy, and some of it would get stuck to his beard, but he wasn’t one to fuss about his appearance. “But you have a tendency of thinking very intensely, and it feels like soliloquising.”

“It’s not soliloquising if I’m not actually talking.” A bit of jam had dripped onto his uniform, so he paused to take a napkin to wipe it clean. “‘ _Soliloquising’_ literally requires _verbalising_!”

“Are we still talking about the soliloquising thing?” At the door appeared Dhatri, bearing a fresh plate of pancakes – courtesy of Al’s professionalism – and also a tall glass of iced blood-red tea.

Blood-red, because thirty-percent blood and seventy-percent black tea.

Unlike Nik, Dhatri had to be very particular about her appearance; from her neatly-tied bun, to her pressed office coat, down to her sharp heels. It was in part due to the demands of her job, but perhaps there was some part of her that enjoyed constructing the image.

She slid smoothly into her own seat, delicate fingees curling around the cutlery. “If the boy wants to soliloquise, let him soliloquise.”

“But it’s not soliloquising-” Lawrence grated his teeth together, “-if I’m not saying anything!”

“Well.” Dhatri took a thoughtful sip of her tea, lipstick marking the edge of cup as she did. “I mean, Ren dear, you’re always kind of intense when you do your brooding, and it sometimes feels like you’re soliloquising even when you’re not.”

Lawrence gawked at her incredulously, then at Nik, who was still happily stuffing his face. “Are you serious?”

“Is this about Ren’s soliloquising thing again?” A voice rang out from the kitchen over the sound of sizzling batter. “Dang it, guys. Leave the man to soliloquise if he wants to!”

“Al! It’s not-” the boy cut himself off, letting out a dejected sigh. “You know what? Never mind.”

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“Welcome back.”

No answer.

“Dude, are you alright?”

Still no answer.

“I mean, you have this really intense look, and I can’t help feel like-”

“If you say that I’m soliloquising,” Lawrence snarled with surprising viciousness, “I will make a you-shaped dent in your locker.”

“ ‘ _U_ -shaped’?” His friend rubbed the base of his chin. Whether he noticed it or not, there was a little bit of stubble still left there. Poor Reuben always had a bit of hair problem. “Like the letter ‘u’? Also I don’t know what that ‘solo-ly’ word you’re talking about. ”

“I mean ‘you-shaped’ as in shaped like-” Lawrence waved carelessly at his blonde peer “-you. Because I’ll pushing _you_ into the door of your locker.” He attempted to illustrate this by punching a fist into his palm. “Thus creating a dent, shaped like you.”

“Oh.” Reuben considered this image carefully, fingers tugging against his blue tie as he did. “That wouldn’t be very pleasant.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“And also not very wise, since we’re currently surrounded by scores of students who don’t know about your - well, you know.”

“My soliloquising?”

“No, the other thing.”

“Ah, yes.” Lawrence made a cursory glance to the students hanging outside the classrooms, too far to be listening to their conversation, but near enough to be witnessing anything out of order. “I suppose so. But when I’m angry I can be pretty irrational, and thus make unwise decisions.”

“Well, let me prevent further stupidity; I only wanted to ask if you’re okay, ‘coz you don’t look it.”

“Oh.” The dark-haired boy leaned back against his own locker door. “Well, then my answer is that I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Really? Not jet-lagged or anything? I mean, you’ve been abroad pretty long. I won’t be surprised if your body hasn’t adjusted.” Reuben pulled out a stack of notes from his locker. “Oh, yeah, these are yours.”

“Thank you, but my body doesn’t need to adjust,” Lawrence answered as he took the notes in his hand. A quick flip through the sheets indicated that the English teacher went overboard with the projects, as usual. There was quite a bit of Math, which was fine, and Chemistry, which was not. “I don’t even need sleep, which is gonna useful when I tackle this backlog.”

“Don’t worry too much.” The bell rang, indicating that there was five minutes before the first class started. “Most of the tutors are pretty chill about it. The only one who cares is-”

“Lemme guess, Mr. Mildew?”

“I resent interruption.” Reuben pushed his glasses back up. “But yes. Also, if you look at your schedule, you’ll find you have first period with him too.”

Lawrence glanced down at the schedule for today, and found that his friend spoke the truth. “Well, shit.”

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When it came to Mr. Mildew, Lawrence had three problems.

One: Mildew was a terrible at History. He didn’t know his facts. He didn’t know his dates. Everything he knew was from Wikipedia, and even then, he didn’t even memorise the information. He just searched for it on his phone in the middle of class and pretended that he knew it all along.

Two: Mildew was a terrible teacher. He played favourites quite blatantly, and made clear those he disliked. He graded tests based on mood swings, and issued quizzes on things that weren’t in the syllabus. He would never be in his office at times when he said he would, and he would berate students for not coming to seek help from him soon after.

Three: Mildew was a terrible human being. On top of everything else mentioned before, Mildew had a rather irksome trait. A trait that would lead him to say things like -

“- communism is evil. Right, Lawrence?”

“- foot-binding is really barbaric. Don’t you think so, Lawrence?”

“- because sushi has salmonella, and salmonella can lead to death. Did you know that, Lawrence?”

“Salmonella is found in raw eggs, not raw fish,” the boy growled under his breath as he stomped down the corridor. “And also, sushi is Japanese.”

“You should file a complaint against him, you know?” Reuben said, as they made their way down to the chemistry lab. “I mean, you have the grounds and plenty of witnesses.”

“You know that others have done that before, and they all mysteriously disappeared.”

“You mean ‘mysteriously’ transferred to a different school,” the blonde boy corrected dryly.

“Yeah, that.” Lawrence rubbed his temple. “ _Argh_. I can’t afford that to happen to me. It’s taken the family so long to settle down here, and we have it all planned out.” He let out a long sigh. “And you know what they say about Mildew.”

Stories about Mildew’s less-than-savoury habits were well-known throughout the school. Any other teacher would have been kicked by now, but the fact remained that Mildew remained one of the longest tutors employed. How he managed to secure his spot, no one knew for sure. There was talking of bribery, friendships extending up to the school board, and even deals made with the devil. Nothing was known for sure, except that going against the history teacher could only be futile.

“Yeah, I understand.” Reuben huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “My fam’s kinda in same boat, otherwise I’d-”

“Reub?”

“I resent the interruption, but yes?”

“You’re a good friend.”

“Aww, I love you too.”

“Wait, wait - no. No hugs. No hugs!”

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Lunch was had at the foot of a giant birch. The two of them had their own boxes packed. As Lawrence lifted the lid of his box, he crossed his fingers and wished for shepherd’s pie.

His wish didn’t come true, but lasagne was pretty good too. Digging his fork through the layers and sliding it into his mouth, he was glad to find the blood pieces mashed between the ricotta and pasta sauce.

“Your lunches always look good, but I know they actually taste gross,” Reuben commented as he yanked open his own box. His had nothing but barbecued sausages, and some hot-dog buns to go with it. “Now this is what I call lunch.”

Lawrence snorted as he eyed his friend’s spread of meat. “I don’t know how you can digest all this processed stuff and refuse to eat the slightest bit of green.”

“I’m a carnivore. It’s how I roll.”

“You eat bread.”

“A selective carnivore, then.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I like those odds. Thank you.”

Both of them dug into their respective boxes, watching the other students scattered across the field. Some people preferred rushing through their lunches and maximise the lunch hour mucking around with balls and bats. Others took their time with their own lunches, sitting in the shaded areas and engaging in conversation while munching their own prepacked meals.

“While you were gone, the temperatures shot up like crazy. Even hit a 42 on some days,” Reub mentioned as he speared a slice of meat. “Also, there were a couple of forest fires around. Nothing unmanageable, but it still sucks. You’re really lucky your home was spared, considering the location.”

Lawrence squinted up through the thick green overgrowth that protected them. “Yeah, well, heat isn’t the problem though.”

“I suppose it helps that you guys are rich,” his friend muttered a little ruefully. “You guys go on long vacations every summer, and could move whenever you want to.”

“Well, moving can be done only after applying for approval.” But they weren’t going anywhere for now, because they were supposed to be here for ten years and it’s only been three thus far.

“Yeah, well, I can’t go anywhere. I need a job after graduation.” That earned a look from the black-haired boy. “What? It’s about time for me anyway. To earn my keep. Protect the clan.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Lawrence took a sip of the cold tea from his flask, grimacing as he swallowed. While it was intuitive to drink something cool on a hot day, he still didn’t quite like the sensation. “Just realised that a lot of things are gonna change this year, that’s all.” 

“We’re getting older, dude, just more noticeably for me. Speaking of which-” Reuben dug a hand into his bag, withdrawal a thin envelope, “-this is for you.”

Taking the proffered item and opening it up, Lawrence was surprised to find the card engraved with — _‘You are invited to the Wedding of Reuben and Daisy.’_

His eyes widened as it fell onto the date written there. “That’s two weeks from now.”

“Yeah, I would have mailed it to you, except that I didn’t know your address in Nepal.” Reuben shrugged as he stuffed some of the bread into his mouth.

“Two weeks.” The card in his hand shook. “That’s really, really soon.”

“Not really? We’ve been dating a year. For my people, it’s about time. So,-” the blonde boy nudged him, “-will you come?”

“Do I have to be your best man?”

“…we don’t have that. My relatives will handle everything, anyways.”

“Got food?”

“None that you can eat.”

“Then what do you need me for?”

“To stand in the background, look pretty and extract me if I chicken-out.”

“If you chicken-out, I’ll tie you up and deliver you to the altar myself.”

“…we also don’t have that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

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Afternoon classes were the worst. Sweltering weather, on top of the unhelpful drudge of postprandial sleepiness, made the period drag on for forever.

“Can anyone in this class tell me what the difference between a monologue and a soliloquy?”

No response, just the whirring of fans above and the silent wishes by everyone that the school would invest in some air-conditioning. Lawrence himself was doodling along the borders of his book, planning how he would spend the evening after class.

“Daniel?”

“Erm, a monologue is any speech spoken by one person, but it can be as if the person is speaking to other people in the story, like Mark Antony did in Julius Caesar. On the other hand, a soli-li-”

“ _Sol-li-lo-quy_.”

“- _so-li-lo-quy_ is a speech spoken by one person is as if the person is talking to themselves, or basically thinking aloud.”

“Very good, Daniel. It seems that Cliffnotes has served you well.” Ms. Roth whipped her glasses off, wiping the mist that had formed there. “Now, put away your phone or I shall confiscate it.”

As the student named Daniel meekly slipped his cellphone from his lap into pocket, Lawrence glanced up from his work to look at the clock. Two and a half hours to go. He was about duck his head back into his scribbles when -

“Lawrence, do you mind reading the soliloquy in Act 3 Scene 1?”

Sighing inwardly, he slowly rose to his feet. Tracing a finger down the lines on the book till column spoken by Hamlet, he read, out-loud, _“To be, or not to be?That is-”_

A spur of giggles erupted.

“Quiet,” Ms. Roth interjected firmly. “Don’t pretend any of you know any of the passage beyond this line, so unless we want a pop-quiz right this instant-” she left it hanging.

The class went quiet then. The teacher muttered something about ‘Internet memes’, before gesturing for his to continue.

Pressing his fingers into the spine of the book, as he started once more,

_“To be, or not to be? That is the question—_

_Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer_

_The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune_ ,

_Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,_

_And, by opposing, end them?_

_To die, to sleep—_

_No more—and by a sleep to say we end_

_The heartache and the thousand natural shocks_

_That flesh is heir to—_

_’tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d.”_

“Thank you, Lawrence. You may sit.”

The boy let out a sigh as he sank back into his seat, grateful.

Until he heard Ms. Roth call out, “Margaret, please help us to continue.”

Against his own will, his body twisted around to face the girl rising to her feet, her own tattered copy of Hamlet in hand.

_“To die, to sleep;_

_To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;”_

There was something about the way that she read it that was oddly mesmerising. Maybe it was because she was the only in the whole class that seemed to remotely trying. Maybe it was because of how naturally the words seemed to roll off her tongue, as if she had spoken this way all her life and meant every word. Maybe it was simply because he liked the sound of her voice; the little inflections, the measured tone, the shifting cadence.

_“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come_

_When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,_

_Must give us pause: there’s the respect_

_That makes calamity of so long life.”_

At this point, Ms. Roth was about to interrupt, probably to call on a dozing student to read the next part. But the girl with auburn curls would pay no heed to this. She rattled on with gusto, clearly ignoring everyone else in the room.

_“-who would fardels bear,_

_To grunt and sweat under a weary life,_

_But that the dread of something after death,_

_The undiscover’d country from whose bourn_

_No traveller returns, puzzles the will_

_And makes us rather bear those ills we have_

_Than fly to others that we know not of?”-_

It slipped past his lips before he could stop himself, _“Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.”_

Margaret paused. Only then did she raise her gaze from her book to look at him.

In fact, everyone in the classroom, even those who had been zoning out, was looking at him.

“Erm.” Feeling extremely self-conscious but recognising the lack of options, Lawrence got back onto his feet, his book still face down on his table.

“ _Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,_ ” he repeated, hands digging into his pockets. _“And thus the native hue of resolution, is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.”_

_“And enterprises of great pith and moment,”_ Margaret continued, her own book falling slack in her grip, almost closed. Her gaze was fixed with his. “ _With this regard their currents turn awry,-”_

_“-And lose the name of action,”_ both voices finished together.

There was a shuffling of seats somewhere. Then a cough. Then a loud hiss — _“Nerrrrrdddssss!”_

“You both actually memorised the soliloquy?” Ms. Roth was surprised, almost delighted.

Margaret nodded. Lawrence shrugged.

“Marvellous! I guess expect at least two ‘As’ for the written assignment then.”

A collective groan echoed through the room.

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“Need a ride home?”

“Nah. I’ve got one.” Lawrence thumbed the bicycle sitting in the middle of the the rack.

Reuben eyed the metal vehicle with disgust. “Don’t you live in a mansion or something?”

“It only looks like that from the outside,” the other boy defended as he tightened the straps on his gloves.

He also had on a coat that covered his arms and neck entirely, plus compression stockings stretching up beyond the hem of his uniform shorts. This certainly made him stand out from the crowd of leaving students, if anyone bothered to pay attention. It was still summer time, and students had better things to do than hang around school.

“Besides, cycling’s better for the environment. Isn’t that something you should be worried about?”

“Hey, that’s why I offered to carpool. But if you rather ride-” Reuben pulled a face at the bike “- _that_ , the carbon footprint is on you.”

“That literally makes no sense.”

“I never do.” The blonde fellow stretched his arms and yawned. “I’m probably gonna take nap after getting home. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Just as Lawrence managed to unlock the chain from his bike, he heard a loud honk. Glancing up, he saw Reuben driving by in his truck, window rolled down.

“Hey.” He blew away a blonde lock from his face, rubbing the growing stubble at the bottom of his chin. “RSVP me by Thurs? My dad needs the numbers.”

“I can’t believe your dad’s okay with me being there,” Lawrence said as he tugged his helmet down – the only thing keeping the sun off his face – and tightened it to his head.

“Oh, he is. He just doesn’t trust you.” The blonde boy chuckled. “Well, lemme know soon.”

Sometime after his friend had driven off and he was rolling his bicycle out onto road, Lawrence caught sight of a wisp of auburn.

Margaret was standing near the school gate, under the shade of her own umbrella as she searched the crowds. When her eyes locked with his, her expression turned frosty.

Letting a sigh, he climbed on the bike and began his peddle home.

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_Caa-click!_

_Whiirrrrrrrrrr-whiirrrrrr-whirrrrrrr…_

Out from the slot slid the finished print, its central rectangle still blank.

A few minutes later, colours and shapes appeared on the sheet, forming an image of school carpark, with the many students milling around the background. At the centre of the image was a bicycle in motion, but no rider could be seen upon it.

The one who held the photograph let out a low-whistle.


	2. The Marrow House

** Tandoori Blood Tikka **

Ingredients:

2 cups of cubed Blood curds

3 tablespoons of Vegetable Oil

4 tablespoon of Olive Oil

4 teaspoons of Fresh Lemon Juice

1 cup of Greek Yogurt

3 tablespoons of Fresh Onion Paste

1 teaspoon of Fresh Ginger Paste

1/2 teaspoon of Turmeric Powder

1 teaspoon of Coriander Powder

1 teaspoon of Cumin Powder

1/4 teaspoon of Cinnamon Powder

1 teaspoon of Red Chili Powder

Steps

  * For marinade, add to a large bowl: Greek Yogurt, Olive Oil, Fresh Onion Paste, Fresh Ginger Paste and 4 tablespoon of Lemon Juice. Mix till smooth.
  * Add all powdered spices. Mix evenly.
  * Add cubes of Blood curds into bowl. Ensure that all the cubes are evenly covered by the marinade.
  * Preheat oven.
  * Prepare a tray by lining it with vegetable oil. Spread marinated cubes over it evenly.
  * Bake until the cubes are evenly cooked. Stop halfway to turn pieces over if needed.
  * Serve with mint yogurt sauce over basmati rice.



~~~0~~~

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It’s true the Marrow house was no mansion. The wide layout of the building, with the large wild field that lay before and behind it, revealed that this place had in fact been an old ranch.

It had been long abandoned by the time the Marrows had come across it. The old gazing grounds were overrun by weeds and wildflowers. Surrounding fences that marked the territory had be worn down to planks. Giant trees that had once simply flanked the broad house now huddled close to it, hanging a perpetual shadow over the once bright and pleasant residence.

And that suited the Marrows just fine.

It was down this shaded driveway that Lawrence Marrow finally stopped his bike and removed his helmet. Vampires didn’t sweat, but there was nothing comfortable about wearing helmets, especially unnecessary ones.

Rolling up his bike past the cars, he slot it into the stand that Nik had installed two winters ago. Removing the grocery bags stuffed in the front basket, he trudged up the porch.

“I’m home,” he called out as he pushed front door open.

No one answered. Usually no one did, but he still did it because it was good manners.

A cursory glance down to the living room found Dhatri curled up on the sofa, still in work clothes but shoes thrown next to the sofa and laptop propped on the armrest. Her ear was glued to the phone. Subsequent muttering made it clear that she was in conversation, and not the pleasant sort.

Lawrence gave her wave, which she acknowledged with a smile. That promptly turned into a scowl when the young woman sat up, barking, “No - damn it, Morgan! It’s the younger Phillips, not the older one!” She pulled a face in his direction, hand waving at her phone as if saying, _‘See what I have to deal with?’_

He answered with a wordless chuckle and a nod, mouthing back, _‘Good luck.’_

The way Dhatri dragged a palm down her face indicated how much faith she had in his well-wishing.

Lawrence then headed for the kitchen. Even through the shut door, he could pick up the aroma of the toasted spices.

“Hey, Al,” he greeted, free hand reaching for the light switch.

Crounching by the oven was the curly-haired cook, arms folded around his knees. His head jerked up just as the switch went on. “Oh, hey, Ren. You’re back just in time.”

“Oh?” The boy went for the kitchen counter, laying down the bags. “I got groceries. Were you missing anything?”

“Oh, no. I’m good for today.” Al gestured towards the oven, where a tray of marinated blood cubes currently sat under the dark orange glow. “After the timer goes off though, it’d be great if I could borrow your eyes.”

Lawrence made a scoffing sound as he began to transfer the purchased items into their respective storage places; vegetables in the fridge; dry ingredients in the lower cupboard; meats in the freezer. “You don’t need me, Al. You always get the timing and texture just right.”

“Complacency is the way of fools, Ren.” The older vampire shook his head, black pony-tail swinging as he stood.

Reaching for the edge of the kitchen counter, Al let his fingers dance along it till he felt the grocery bags. He made an excited chirp after picking up the one of the tomatoes. “Oooh, nice. Finally some good ones-” he gave it a sniff “- ripe and fresh too. Not like those crummy ones last week. Perfect for a bolognese, don’t you think?”

Lawrence rolled his eyes even as he slotted the new bottle of olive oil and removed the empty old one. “You know they sell pre-made sauces in jars.”

Al let out a fake gasp, clutching his chest as he did. “Pre-made? The outrage! The villainy!” He raised his two fists dramatically towards the heavens. “Lord, take me before I commit such sin!” He ended with a theatrical sob into his sleeve.

The boy shot a disgusted look his way, swiping the tomatoes from him. “Sometimes I can’t believe I’m the youngest here.”

“You’re also the most boring,” Al sneered, his hands digging into the remaining bags. “After Eb, I mean. That guy has the personality of a rock.” He picked up a bag of white grains, shaking in his hands. “Hmm…now is this salt or sugar...”

Lawrence raised a brow, even though such expressions were useless. “You know he can probably hear you, right?”

“In order to do so, he would need to be focusing on something other than work – which knowing Eb, is unlikely to be anytime soon.” Al tossed the bag a few times, then sniffed it. “This is salt, isn’t it? Next time get the fine sort. We’re running out of that.”

“Make the list. I’ll pick it up next week.”

“Speaking of pick-ups, the bossman picked up some new stock.” Al carried the salt over to the dried goods shelf, adding it to the other bags they had there. “He might need some help moving it in.”

Just then, the timer on the counter went off. The curly-haired vampire suddenly straightened up, darting to the oven and squatting in front of it. “Eyeballs, now!”

Lawrence sighed as he abandoned his task of folding the empty paper bags, sinking next to his older colleague. “Okay. Now what?”

“What?” Al shot an incredulous look his way – well, roughly his way. “Tell me how it looks!”

The boy squinted through the tinted glass, down at the cubes. “Well, they look fine.” That earned him a smack on the head. “Ow! What?”

“I thought I’ve taught you better than this,” fumed the older vampire as he fumbled for the handle of oven door. “Describe the outer appearance: _golden-brown? Dark-brown? Reddish-tint?_ Does it look crusted around the edges? Does it look like tofu, or more like jelly? C’mon, gimme something!” 

“Isn’t the surest way to test to taste it, anyways?” was Lawrence’s irritated counter.

As the oven door dropped open, a fog of heated spices washed over the both of them. One of Al’s calloused hands went for the tray, only for the boy to slap them away. “ _Whoa!_ Mitts first.”

“We don’t actually need them, you know.”

“Yes…but Dhatri bought them specially for you, and if you don’t use them, she’d be disappointed.”

“The things we do imitate domesticity,” Al muttered disconsolately, allowing his companion to slide the two chunky blue oven mitts, complete with cutesy bunny print, over his hands. “Now can I remove the tray and check the cubes manually, since you apparently can’t tell me if they’re ready?”

“Don’t blame me if I can’t do your job. You know I’m not very good at this culinary stuff.”

“Which is why you should learn.”

“I’m not like you, Al. I don’t have the tastebuds.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

As expected, Al’s blood cubes were perfectly cooked, so he did release Lawrence to go help with the ‘bossman’.

The large old ex-soldier was out in the back, where the truck had been parked. Thanks to the longer daylight hours, he still had a cap over his head, shades over his eyes and a bomber jacket stretched over his huge arms. If it wasn’t for the clipboard that he was squinting at, Nik would look like he was from a biker gang.

Actually, you know what? Even with the clipboard, Nik still looked like he was from a biker gang.

“Hey.”

The giant man paused his work, raised his glasses and grinned down at the greeter. “Ah, Ren, my boy! You have returned.”

“Yep.” The boy, who too now donned a hat that he had grabbed from the door, hopping up into the back of the pick-up truck. There were six styrofoam boxes there, strapped down. “I’ll start moving them down?”

“Give me a moment.” Nik’s head was returned to bent down over the clipboard, his busy brows still knitted together as he studied the invoice. “These numbers don’t add up.”

“Did you add the delivery fees? And the taxes?”

“Yes. But it was agreed they’d give a ten-percent discount on the near-expiring stock. I do not see it here.” His bearded face contorted into a scowl, before he suddenly perked up and glanced at the shorter fellow. “Oh, Ren, would you-”

“Nope.” The dark-haired lad was quick to pick up a styrofoam box. “You do that, and I’ll just do the muscle-work.”

Nik made a disgruntled noise as he pulled out his phone, where he no doubt had to make a rather unpleasant call.

The Marrows had two main sources of income: the first Dhatri’s job at the bank, which had something to do with helping companies make money from loans. Or was it make loans from money? Or was it making companies from loans? Lawrence didn’t get it, but he knew that it paid well.

Which was fortunate, because the second so-called source of income often ran a deficit. Ironic, since that source of income was called _‘The Iron Rice Bowl’._

It wasn’t Nik’s fault, because he tried – as much as a person whose old expertise was making heads roll could try.

But the honest fact was that Gumwater wasn’t a very big town in the first place. Combine that with a large proportion of its population being thoroughbred Aussies, the demands for ‘Asian’ products wasn’t that high around here. For all the shifting taste buds in urban cities, Gumwater stayed satisfied with its milk, Vegemite and barbie. _‘The Iron Rice Bowl’_ , which had a name that meant ‘source of reliable income’, was consistently on the verge of tanking.

Nonetheless, their little asian market persisted, sustained by Dhatri covering the losses and also by sheer necessity. How else were you going to justify regular shipments of frozen blood to a rural town like this?

It was these boxes of frozen blood that Lawrence carried underground, down to the basement.

Back when they had first purchased the place, the basement had once simply been that a small little storage room under the house. Nik had made short work of that, pushing out deeper and wider. Now, there were two full levels under the house and underground. The upper basement was mainly a storage area still, with their two industrial fridges in two of rooms and an administration office across them. The lower basement was generally off-limits, unless you were summoned.

But Lawrence wasn’t summoned, and his business wasn’t in the lower basement. He was just here to transfer the new stock in.

There were two types of stock they kept in the giant fridges; pig blood and cow blood. These would be stacked in separate shelves, on the each shelf the batches of blood stock were arranged according to purchase and expiration dates. Every week, some would be transferred up to the kitchen for use. The last time Lawrence counted, they had at six hundred or so blocks of frozen blood in total, each the size of a small brick.

A little overkill? Well, better overkill than kill, Al liked to say.

“We still have surplus duck blood from last time,” he told Nik when the large man joined him in the freezer – _in_ , because the freezer was about as half the size of the whole room and could easily fit twenty more people in it.

The large man had with him the last two boxes of the new delivery. He set them down easily. “Expiry date?”

Lawrence pried one of the frosted boxes loose from the pile, carefully as not to crack it. He squinted at the label. “March, next year.”

Nik scratched his beard. “Ah, keep it for a while. It’s hard to find, and Alexios might wish it for something special.”

Lawrence nodded. He headed over the tool shelf they had in the fridge, grabbing a hammer and chisel.

With fridge maintaining the environment at a frostbiting temperature, ice always frosting over the stacks, sticking them to the shelves. That made it difficult to move the boxes of blood around; a necessary action, as part of the stock-keeping process. While one could certainly yank the stacks out from the ice with brute force, it’d risked cracking the plastic boxes that the blood was stored in. Vampires didn’t get food poisoning, but contaminated blood never tasted good to anyone.

Thus, the hammer and chisel to carefully chip away the ice first, so the frozen stacks could be shifted.

As they worked, Nik inquired, “How was school?”

“Fine.” Lawrence continued hammering the chisel, each strike a controlled - _clink. Clink. Clink._ “I’ve a lot of homework to catch up on.”

“The teachers?”

_Clink. Clink. Clink._ “Nothing out of ordinary.”

“Your classmates? That friend of yours?”

_Clink. Clink. Clink._ “They’re all good. Reuben’s fine.”

“What of the girl? Did you see her?”

_Clin-THWWWWAAAACK!_

He had missed the chisel, hammering his hand instead - and with a little too force.

Staring down at the splintered handle of his hammer – “Pass me another one, please.”

A pause. “I guess you did, then.”

Lawrence didn’t respond, just dropping the pieces of the broken tool on the frosted floor. He held out an open palm expectantly, eyes trained downwards.

He heard Nik sigh, before feeling the cool handle of a new hammer slide into his grasp.

He resumed his work, gaze still low. _Clink. Clink. Clink._

“My boy, you know,” came the gentleness gruffness that was classic of the larger, muscular vampire. “I am always here if you need to talk.”

_Crack!_ Finally, the stack was freed from its icy chains. Lifting it up, Lawrence hauled it over to the next shelf, pushing it to the back. That would give them space to put the new-batch but nearly-expiring stock in the front, reminding them to clear that first.

“Ren?”

The boy moved back to previous shelf, ready to chisel out the next stack. He didn’t hear any movement behind him, and knew that Nik was still waiting for his answer.

Swallowing — “Actually, something did happen.”

He could almost hear the older fellow perk up. “Oh?”

“Reuben’s getting married in two weeks. He invited me.”

“Oh.” He caught the disappointment in Nik’s voice, before it was hastily covered up with interest. “And the elder Silverstein, he approves?”

“Somehow, yeah.” Lawrence let out a chuckle. “I think Reuben blackmailed him or something.”

The older fellow let out a thoughtful hum. “It’d be good for you to go. You would be – _what is the word?_ – an ambassador of good faith? Yes, yes. An good faith ambassador between us and them.”

“So I can go?”

“Of course. Just-” Nik nudged playfully in the shoulder “-don’t start a war or anything.”

“Start _only_ a war? Boss, you underestimate my ability for chaos.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

They gathered for dinner at seven. Eb didn’t join them, being too absorbed with work as usual. Dhatri carried his share down. The meal was pleasant, and Al’s cooking was superb as always – not that he thought so. But it didn’t matter, because everyone else enjoyed it.

After the meal, they parted ways. Dhatri said that she would be in her room settling the leftover work. Nik said he would be doing accounting for the store. Al said he would be watching TV. And Lawrence? Lawrence had homework.

The stack that Reuben had collected him was quickly divided by subject, and subsequently ordered from easy to hard to ridiculous. He connected his phone to the speaker, starting up the playlist for _‘The Mamas & The Papas’_. He cracked his knuckles, and picked up his pen.

Within fifteen minutes, he was bored.

Just because a well-nourished vampire technically had the energy to last through a sleepless night didn’t mean that he had the focus to utilise it.

He stared at the stack – the worksheets, the questions books – and he wondered why people considered this getting an education.

He glanced towards the invitation card lying next to his phone. Rather aimlessly, he found himself brushing a thumb over the engraved golden words. The design was elegant and the paper quality was pretty solid. The printing must have been costly.

The longer he stared it, the more he sensed an unpleasantness growing in him. It felt heavy, and ugly, and…

…it was time to get midnight snack.

He marched across the house, aiming straight for the fridge. Yanking the door open, he ran his eyes over the snacks options that lay on the shelves. Cake. Tea. Jelly. Al must have made this over the weekend.

And none of it appealed to him.

Dissatisfied with his hunt, Lawrence returned to his room. Grabbing his phone, he flopped back on his bed and began scrolling through Enstagram.

It had taken much convincing before they permitted him to have such applications on his phone. He had argued that it was necessary for the persona he had constructed here. Lawrence Marrow was already a weird kid that had ‘special permissions’ do things other kids couldn’t do – not too mention his appearance didn’t exactly help him to blend in. Without social media, he was going to be _waaaaay_ too weird.

Eventually, it had been agreed that it was fine, as long as he didn’t post anything. So Lawrence didn’t. He followed his peers on his account, they followed him on theirs (as pointless as that was), and he had watched them enjoying beaches and camping and parties over the summer, while he sat through meeting after meeting in Lalitpur, bored out of his mind.

Mind you, it didn’t mean that he wanted to go beaches and camping and parties. But the meetings were really, really tedious.

As he started on his brainless thumb-flicking against the screen, he paused when he spotted a familiar face.

It was Margaret, in uniform. She was in some kind of café, bent over a laptop and brows furrowed concentration. The way the sun caught on her reddish brown locks seemed to adorn her with a halo, and he couldn’t help but admire well the standard-issues checkered blouse framed her torso.

And then Lawrence noticed the boy next to her, also in school attire.

He stood by her side, arching forward with one hand resting on the table and the other pointing to something on the laptop screen – a position that put him shoulder-to-shoulder with her. The photo had caught him mid-speech, and the caption below suggested that this was some kind of project meeting.

That wasn’t the problem though. The problem was the guy was good-looking.

_Absurdly_ good-looking.

And what’s worse was that –

_—Bzzzts! Bzzzts!_

His phone screen blurred out, flashing only the phone icon repeatedly. When he saw the attached ID, Lawrence sighed. He hit the answer button, but before he could say anything —

_“It’s midnight. Get down here.”_

His eyes darted up to the wall clock. It was indeed midnight. “You know, we actually stay in the same house,” he began in an annoyed tone. “You could just-”

_Click!_ Of course, the caller hung up, because he was a jerk.

The screen of phone reverted back to the social media page, but thanks to the call, it reloaded, launching him back right to the top. The post was lost. 

The boy stabbed his finger on the side button as he headed out of his room.

_It’s fine._

It could’ve been a very long time ago. Or, even if it was recent, they were just project mates, or even maybe at most friends.

Or maybe they weren’t. But that didn’t matter. It wasn’t any of his business.

_It’s fine._

He had stop for a moment to pocket his phone, because his fingers were clenching themselves up into fists and he didn’t want to break the device.

_It’s fine._

It didn’t matter.

Margaret could do whatever she wanted.

_It’s fine._

It wasn’t like they were anything, anyways.

_It’s_ _fine-fine-fine-frickety-fine._

After reaching the upper basement, he found himself dragging his feet. Standing at top of the next flight of stairs, he felt the urge to turn on his heel, to climb all the way back up, to exit the door of the Marrow House and leave all its burdens behind.

He suppressed it.

Entire body tensing up, Lawrence slowly descended, feet creaking on every step. He approached the metal door with great wariness, lifting his fist. He knocked three times, then moved away.

A little while later, he heard the whirring of machinery, the clunking of pistons, the clucking of gears, and a hiss. The door swung open.

In its frame was a figure cast in shadow. Only the tattooed markings across his lips down to his chin could be seen in the dim lighting. “It’s ten minutes past midnight.”

“It literally makes no difference,” Lawrence argued feebly. His voice sounded strange, when heard in the quietness.

He could feel Eb’s distain, even if he couldn’t make out his expression fully. “Get in.”

Lawrence did as he was told. Behind him, he heard the door rolling back to its original place, closing with an ominous _‘thud’_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just would want to warn that not all recipe ideas are feasible. I have never cooked with blood before, and am in fact not a great cook. Most of these adapted from stuff I saw online.
> 
> I’m also not an Australian native, and feedback to improve the accuracy of the story would be appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... back in April 2017 I had written a fanfiction for the extremely specific fandom of the ‘Rise of the Brave Frozen Tangled Dragons’, which bears the same name as this story, but I didn’t complete it (It’s [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12447449/1/The-Immortal-Haemovore-s-Cookbook), but I suggest keeping clear of it if you don’t want any spoilers for this story. The story is kinda different though, so the experience will be too.)
> 
> After I outgrew and sorta left that fandom, I thought that about taking the same idea and revamping it into a new original story. Hence...this. 
> 
> For people who came from the fanfic version, you’d be able to tell that I’m writing this from scratch and there are a lot of differences in this new version (the rules of the vampires, the personality of the characters, the setting of the story etc.).
> 
> It’s my first time publishing an original story online, so have mercy. 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, as well as any other comments and questions. Thank you for reading.


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